Wickham's Christmas Ghosts
by Astonishment
Summary: What if George Wickham had a Christmas Carol-type experience? A Wickham redemption story inspired by Jane Austen and Charles Dickens.
1. Christmas Eve 1811

**Wickham's Christmas Ghosts**

**Summary:** What if George Wickham had a Christmas Carol-type experience? A Wickham redemption story inspired by Jane Austen and Charles Dickens.

**Disclaimer: **All characters are the property of Jane Austen and Charles Dickens.

**Chapter 1: ****Christmas Eve 1811**

The holidays had finally come and George Wickham was enjoying some well-deserved time off from his duties in the militia. He had traveled to London with a few friends and had spent the evening in his favorite tavern celebrating the gaieties of the season with a good meal and a few pints of ale. He had paid his attentions to a few of the local serving girls and had been rewarded with a few free pints and more than a few kisses. This was small consolation, he thought. If things had gone according to plan, he would be thirty thousand pounds richer from the Darcy's fortune; but sadly, once again, William Darcy had won out and poor George was left with nothing.

He had planned it all so carefully, with the help of his friend, Mrs. Younge. She had advised him of the travel plans of the young Georgiana Darcy, who was to spend the summer in Ramsgate with her hired companion, well away from the interference of her older brother. Sweet Georgiana had been so easily convinced of his affections that she readily agreed to elope to Gretna Green. She had a sizable dowry which would have certainly kept him perfectly well in the lifestyle that he was destined to live.

After all, the elder Darcy was his godfather and George was the gentleman's namesake. He cared for George as he would his own son, paid for his education at Cambridge and had bequeathed an inheritance in his will; a living at the Kympton church. Of course, initially George had decided that taking orders was not his destiny and he conjured an excuse for William that he would prefer to study law. The three thousand pounds that he had convinced William to pay him seemed to be the perfect alternative at the time, but that three thousand disappeared quite quickly. How was a fellow to live in the lifestyle to which he had become accustomed on only three thousand pounds? George considered himself quite proficient at cards and his luck held out quite well at first, but then that money was gone and he desperately needed additional funds. There were a few lovely maidens who were more than willing to surrender their savings – and their virtue – to him, but unfortunately that money had also been quickly spent. The local merchants in Lambton were kind enough to extend credit to him for a short period of time, but when they demanded payment, he was forced to leave his beloved Derbyshire.

That pompous William had always been jealous of his relationship with his father and refused to give him the Kympton living when it again became available. What did it matter that he had already been paid for the amount of the living? Should he not enjoy the inheritance that the elder Darcy had intended for him? William had so much money; certainly his father would want him to share some of it with George! But no amount of reasoning would persuade William to allow him the living or part with additional funds for his life-long friend. William and George had been so close in their youth, sharing important milestones together; playing in the nursery, recovering from various broken bones, learning to fish, hunt and ride, getting their first horses and attending university. When had William become so reserved? So unmovable? So unreasonable?

At Ramsgate with Georgiana last summer, George had secured their travel arrangements to Gretna Green and was only two days away from accomplishing his goal when her brother swooped into town and thwarted his plans. Thirty thousand pounds had slipped right through his fingers! Well, that and the opportunity to exact his revenge on William. Would he not have been devastated to see his precious sister fall prey to his charms? But of course, that too had been taken away from him. He had been forced to leave Ramsgate with nothing; no money and no prospects. The only acceptable opportunity left to him was to join the military.

Being a lieutenant in His Majesty's service was not such a bad living. It was not the life he was destined for but certainly he had no cause to complain overmuch. He was occasionally able to enjoy a drink and the attentions of the ladies. His fellow officers indulged him in his need for cards. All he needed was that one big win and he would retire from the military and live the life of a gentleman, as he was destined to do.

Now it was Christmas Eve and he was stuck in this sparse boarding house room. The tavern had closed early to allow the proprietor and his employees to spend the holiday with their families. George recalled his parents with tenderness; his mother was a bright and lively woman who had loved him with all her heart. She passed away when he was five years of age but he could still see her warm smile and bright eyes. His father had been a loyal steward to the elder Mr. Darcy and did the best he could to raise a motherless child. That was when Mr. Darcy took him under his wing and bestowed all the privileges to him that he would his own son; a second father. But then they were both gone all too quickly. George could not help feeling sorry for himself, alone on Christmas Eve. In past years, he enjoyed sitting by the roaring yule fire listening to tales of days gone by from his father and Mr. George Darcy. Now he sat alone in his empty, cheerless boarding house room with only a pint of ale and a waning fire in the fireplace to keep him company.

(**Sources:** _Pride and Prejudice_, Jane Austen, 1813. _A Christmas Carol_, Charles Dickens, 1843.)


	2. Warning

**Wickham's Christmas Ghosts**

**Chapter 2: ****Warning**

George was jolted from his drunken slumber by the sound of a hacking cough. A dark figure approached his bed, coughing and wheezing with labored breath and dragging a chair behind him. The dark figure set the chair next to the bed and sat down: "Are you awake, George?" he asked in a raspy voice.

"Who are you? How do you know my name? What are you doing in my room?" George demanded. _"I am certain that I bolted the door; how did he get in?"_ he wondered. He would have thought himself to be quite hung over with the amount of ale he had consumed that evening, but he felt quite lucid as he trembled and stared at the shadowy figure in the dark.

"Have you forgotten me, George? After all I have done for you, you have forgotten me?" the wheezing man asked.

"How can I have forgotten someone I never knew?" he asked, rising from his bed and searching for a match to light the candle.

"Oh George, I had such high hopes for you," the man said, then dissolved into a coughing fit.

George struck a match, lit the candle and observed an old man with white hair, dressed in black, doubled over and wracked with cough. He filled a glass with water and offered it to the man, who whispered his thanks, drank greedily and finally calmed down. When the candle light illuminated his face, George was struck by the similarity the man had to Mr. George Darcy.

Shaking his head, the man lamented: "What has become of you, George? You are my namesake! You were to be a great man of the cloth."

Recognizing the man, George was suddenly filled with alarm: "Mr. Darcy?" he asked hesitantly. Certainly it could not be! It was not possible! The man had been dead for five years! But there was no mistake; it was he.

"I have come to warn you, George. You must change your ways or you shall live to regret it!" Darcy told him in a wheezing voice.

"What do you mean? Change my ways?" George asked, standing before his dead godfather.

"Yes George. Do you think I know not of your gambling, your drinking and your womanizing? I know, George! I know!" he said mournfully.

George backed away from the man: "What do you mean? How do you know?" he asked suspiciously.

"I even know of your plan to run away with my daughter's fortune," Darcy told him.

George began to perspire; was Mr. Darcy planning to kill him to exact his revenge on him? He had never mentioned his plan to a soul; not even Mrs. Younge knew of his plan to take Georgiana's money and leave without a word.

Darcy nodded his head: "Yes, George, I know it all! But you must change your life or you shall end up like me!" he warned.

George was startled by this statement: "But Mr. Darcy, I should like nothing more than to be just like you. You had the life that I wish to have," he told the older man.

Darcy gravely shook his head: "Oh yes, I did have a good life but I threw it all away. When my beloved wife Anne died, I gave up. I wished I had died with her. She died after giving birth, you know," he sorrowfully explained.

"Yes, I know."

"It was on Christmas Day that she died. The good Lord took her from me on Christmas Day!" he cried, pulling a soiled handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his eyes.

"I am sorry, I had forgotten."

"She was the light of my life! I was devastated at first but then my devastation turned to anger. I was angry, George!" Darcy told him, clenching his fists and coughing.

"Of course you were," George told him, refilling his water glass.

Darcy took another long drink then returned to his story: "I turned my back on my children and consoled myself in drink. I could not bear to live in a world without my dearest Anne. I forgot that she bore me a daughter in her own likeness. Instead of taking solace in my daughter, I shunned her and shut myself away. I found solace in drink," he explained, shaking his head.

"Every year at Christmas, instead of celebrating with my children, I preferred to be alone. I drank my life away, George! I was angry that everything I held dear had been taken away from me," Darcy told his namesake.

"Not everything, Sir," George suggested.

Darcy eyed the younger man suspiciously: "That is just like you, George. You think the world owes you something, do you not?" he accused him.

"If William had just honored your wishes, I would have everything I ever wanted," George reasoned.

Darcy was alarmed: "No George, you should not follow my example! I did not appreciate what I had been given. Anne had given me a beautiful daughter in her own image but I neglected her," he replied, hanging his head in remorse.

"I fail to understand how my wretched life is anything like yours, Mr. Darcy," George told him. How a man of such vast wealth and importance could compare himself to an impoverished soldier was beyond his comprehension.

"Instead of embracing her and cherishing her, I left it to William to care for her," Darcy told him.

"William has cared for Georgiana very well, I assure you."

Darcy rose from his chair and mournfully continued: "And I failed to understand how wonderful my life was. Now my punishment for my neglect and discontent is to walk the earth in a constant state of remorse, in search of peace I have yet to find. I hated Christmas, for that is when my angel Anne was taken from me. I never forgave Christmas for taking my Anne away from me!" he exclaimed as he paced the room. He began shouting angrily: **"Happy Christmas? Ha!"** he said angrily. "**Gibberish!** I used to say! Why be so merry when my life had no meaning?" he asked the younger man. "I acted as though my life was already over, ignoring the fact that I had children and a godson and tenants who needed me."

"I am responsible for the life you have chosen, George! I knew of your drinking, your gaming and your dalliances and did nothing to guide you. If I had taken the time to check you, you would be in the clergy with a good living and the respect of the community. Now look at you, you are worthless!" Darcy shouted, shaking a pale, trembling fist at him.

George was horrified at the harsh reproach of his esteemed godfather. "You do not deserve my name!" Darcy told George as he moved closer. He suddenly retreated, returned to the chair and lowered his voice: "Or maybe you do deserve it, George, for my life ended as a drunk and a wastrel! Do not make the same errors I made! Do not repeat my mistakes!" he lamented, coughing loudly.

Thinking it was time for Mr. Darcy to take his leave, George rose and attempted to assist the old man to his feet; but he would not be moved.

Darcy grabbed George by the arms and held him tightly: "Listen carefully, George! You shall be visited by three spirits this evening. Take heed! They will have lessons for you that you must heed!" he warned the young man.

George was startled at being held so tightly by the dead man: "Yes, Sir," he replied; a terrified whisper was all he could manage.

Darcy shook George to get his attention: "Promise me that you will be mindful of their messages!" he demanded.

George pried the man's grip away from his arms and took a step back: "Yes, Sir, I promise," he replied, increasing the distance between them.

"Good boy, George!" the older man said in a hoarse voice, patting his shoulder. He turned and left the room leaving George alone. He went to the door and observed that the bolt was securely in place. He wondered briefly how Darcy had managed to enter and leave without unbolting the door but exhaustion suddenly overcame him. He blew out the candle, returned to bed and fell immediately to sleep.

(**Sources:** _Pride and Prejudice_, Jane Austen, 1813. _A Christmas Carol_, Charles Dickens, 1843.)


	3. Christmas Past

**Wickham's Christmas Ghosts**

**Chapter 3: ****Christmas Past**

George was awakened by a bright light that filled his boarding house room. Thinking it was morning, he looked out the window but it was pitch dark outside. Shielding his eyes from the bright light, he noticed a woman adorned entirely in white; her hair, bonnet, gown, coat and gloves were all white. "Madame, why have you come into my room?" he asked.

"Hello George," she said.

Observing her more closely, she appeared to be an angelic apparition holding a single candle that seemed to glow with the brightness of one hundred candles. "How do you know my name?" he asked rubbing his eyes.

"Were you not told of my visit?" she asked.

Observing her once again, he noticed that she resembled, Lady Anne Darcy. At that moment he recalled his dream of Mr. George Darcy. Certainly it was a dream, was it not? But he did mention that there would be three spirits. Was this woman a spirit? "Are you Lady Anne?" he asked her, rising from his bed.

She shook her head: "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past," she replied with an elegant curtsey.

He was astonished: "You look just like Lady Anne Darcy, my godmother," he observed.

"I have come to take you on a journey," she explained with a warm smile.

George was unwilling to take a journey with a spirit, even one as pleasant and beautiful as this one. "We must not take a journey until at least sunrise. Will you not come back later?" he asked. He planned to get rid of her then leave the boarding house so she would be unable to find him.

"Give me your arm and we shall be off," she told him.

Planning on escorting her to the door and showing her out, he offered his arm and they were immediately transported to another room. He was astonished to behold his childhood home.

"What do you see George?" the bright Spirit asked him.

Casting his gaze about the room, he noticed his dear parents sitting together on the sofa and a young boy sitting on the floor in front of the blazing yule log. "Papa! Mama! How wonderful you look!" he exclaimed, noticing how young they both appeared. He rushed to them but they seemed not to notice him.

"They do not see or hear you, George," the Spirit told him, holding the brilliant candle aloft. She pointed to the young boy: "That is you, George! So young and full of potential!" she told him. He looked again at the boy; it was indeed himself; but how? "You were five years of age that Christmas," the bright Spirit told him.

He recalled that Christmas Day with fond memories. He had been permitted to stay up past bedtime that year while his father read to them. He had enjoyed that evening and it was the beginning of a Wickham family tradition. His father had read to him every night on Christmas. It was a wonderful memory. _"How had I forgotten it?"_ he wondered.

"Do you remember that boy, George? His innocence and lightness of heart? He never wished ill on another living soul," the bright Spirit told him.

He gazed at himself as a boy and remembered that he was indeed quite innocent; he knew nothing of the ways of the world at that age. He wished that he could return to that day and begin his life over again. He would appreciate his parents much more. He suddenly comprehended what the Spirit had told him; he was five years old that year. That was the last Christmas that they had spent together. His mama had died a few months later. He knelt before his mama and laid his head in her lap. "I love you, Mama," he said, tears filling his eyes.

"Come, George," the Spirit called out to him.

Unwilling to leave his beloved Mama, he clung to her and sobbed: "No, Lady Anne! Please allow me to stay!" he pleaded with her.

The bright Spirit grasped his wrist and they were immediately whisked away. They were suddenly outdoors on a snowy hill. He then observed himself as an older boy of eight years, sledding with young William Darcy and his Fitzwilliam cousins, Robert and Richard; he smiled as he realized that they were at Pemberley. Looking at the house, he observed young Anne de Bourgh watching them from the window. When they reached the bottom of the hill, all four boys ran into the house. The Spirit held George's wrist and they were suddenly whisked inside to the kitchen, where the boys and Anne were being treated to hot apple cider and sugar plums. He remembered this day fondly and was proud of the close bond he once had with the other children.

The Spirit held his wrist, the room swirled around him and in an instant they were standing in the Pemberley dining room where the assembled guests were applauding. George beheld the source of their appreciation; a servant carrying a tray of flaming Christmas pudding. He saw himself as an older boy of fourteen years and recalled that year with great delight. He loved the showy display that the Darcys always observed for the entrance of the Christmas pudding. A servant would bring the pudding glowing with fire and place it on the table; the attendees would marvel at the sight; Mr. Darcy would announce with dramatic flair that the pudding would reveal the guests' fate for the coming year and encourage everyone to make a silent wish for their futures. George always wished that he would be a rich man, just like Mr. Darcy. Then the flame was extinguished and the pudding was served. The guests all consumed the pudding with great anticipation hoping to find a good luck charm inside.

The charms all had different meanings: whoever found a sixpence would find wealth in the New Year; a ring would foretell marriage; a thimble would foretell spinsterhood; a silver button would foretell bachelorhood for another year.

The guests would all react with glee when a charm was found by a lucky or unlucky recipient. In the scene before him, George found the thimble and the crowd erupted into boisterous laughter. "Perhaps your luck will change next Christmas!" Mr. Darcy told him gleefully. George smiled at the cheerful scene before him. Some of the happiest times that George could recall were the holidays he spent at Pemberley with the Darcys and the Fitzwilliams.

The bright Spirit touched his wrist and the scene suddenly changed; they had returned to the kitchen. George recognized himself as a young man of eighteen years; he had come home from university for the holidays. However, this scene showed no youthful innocence or joys of the season; he was drunk and pushing a scullery maid into a dark corner, holding her tightly as she struggled to get away. The Spirit's brilliant candle illuminated the dark scene; George tried to turn away but the Spirit forced him to watch as young George stole the young maid's innocence. "No, Spirit, no more!" he complained. He recoiled in horror as the young girl screamed out. When George could bear it no longer, he grabbed the Spirit's brilliant candle and extinguished the flame.

The room went dark and he found himself standing alone in his boarding house room. He ran to the door to bolt it but it was already securely locked. He jumped into the bed and hid under the covers, trembling with fear.

(**Sources:** _Pride and Prejudice_, Jane Austen, 1813. _A Christmas Carol_, Charles Dickens, 1843.)


	4. Christmas Present

**Wickham's Christmas Ghosts**

**Chapter 4: ****Christmas Present**

George awoke to a boisterous noise: **"Wake up, George, you lazy oaf!" **a loud voice boomed nearby. George observed a jovial man sitting next to the fireplace which was blazing with a full fire. He recalled that when he had gone to sleep earlier, the fire had been nearly extinguished. He looked out the window expecting to see daylight but found only darkness. The man laughed heartily as George swung his feet out of the bed and rested them on the floor. "You have been quite busy this evening, have you not?" the man asked him with a grand laugh.

He gazed at the visitor and observed a young man with long brown hair dressed in a festive green coat with bright silver buttons; an evergreen wreath adorned his head. He held a burning torch which radiated light and warmth into the room. Upon closer inspection, he recognized the young man: "Richard Fitzwilliam? What are you doing here?" George asked.

The man laughed boisterously and rose to his feet: "Ha, Ha! You may call me whatever you wish but I am the Ghost of Christmas Present!" the man told him as he bowed and continued chuckling.

George realized that this must be another spirit; first Christmas Past and now Christmas Present. _"What lesson shall this spirit try to teach me?"_ he wondered.

The Spirit laughed heartily: "Let us go, George!" he said with a merry chuckle. He grabbed George's arm and they were transported to Pemberley once again. The jolly Spirit held his torch aloft and George observed William and Georgiana Darcy in the music room; she was playing the pianoforte and he was sitting next to her, listening intently. George knew of the close bond William had with his sister and felt a pang of jealousy at the tender scene.

Georgiana suddenly stopped playing and covered her face with her hands. "I am a terrible sister! I have disappointed you, William! I never should have fallen under George's influence so easily!" she said through her tears.

"No Georgie!" William told her as he embraced her. "It is I who have disappointed you! Aunt Catherine insisted that I send a man servant with you to Ramsgate and I ignored her advice – I kept to my own counsel, thinking that I knew best. I trusted your care to someone who was unworthy of that trust and I shall forever regret that decision." He stroked her shoulder as he comforted her. "Let us not cry today or harbor past regrets," he told her, drying her tears.

She observed his worried brow: "Are you thinking of…Hertfordshire?" she asked hesitantly. He nodded sadly and they comforted each other as George looked on.

"Why did you bring me here, Richard?" George asked the Spirit. "Am I to feel remorse for them? They who have everything I ever wanted?" he sneered. He observed that the Spirit now had dark stubble covering his jaw; he had been clean-shaven moments ago.

The Spirit laughed as he grabbed George's arm and they were transported to a dark room where a young woman was crying as she sat on her bed. The torch was held aloft, illuminating the woman's face. George thought he recognized her: "Is that Phillipa Martin?" he asked.

"Yes, she is the sister of your university classmate," the Spirit replied.

"Yes, I remember. What happened to her?" he asked, as he observed her meager surroundings. She had been such a lively girl from an affluent family. He had been in search of amusement when he last encountered her walking alone on her father's estate. She had been easily convinced to trust him and that no harm would come to her.

"You left her with child," the Spirit replied.

George was beset with guilt as he observed poor Phillipa crying miserably, alone in her room. "What has become of her?" he asked.

"She was banished from her home by her family and now works as a scullery maid on an estate to the North," the Spirit told him.

"What of the child?" George asked the Spirit.

"He was adopted by a childless couple in London," he replied gazing at the young woman. "She cries now for her lost youth and lost son," he told George. The Spirit now had a dark beard adorning his face making him appear twenty years older and he had lost his jovial demeanor. "What think you now of your amusement?" he thoughtfully asked George who looked away, ashamed of his role in Phillipa's reduced circumstances. The Spirit grabbed George's arm and they were transported to another room.

This room was dark, dingy and sparsely furnished. A young girl was screaming in pain as she lay in front of the fireplace. There was straw spread out on the floor beneath her and George realized that she was giving birth. The Spirit held his torch aloft and the horrifying scene was brightly illuminated. The girl was a pretty young servant that he had met earlier that year. He had been drinking that night and had pursued her in search of amusement. The girl screamed as the babe emerged from her womb. The scene became more gruesome than George could bear and he turned away. "No George!" the Spirit demanded as he pushed him to his knees beside the girl; "You must observe her!" he instructed. The tiny babe was taken from the floor by the dirty midwife who swaddled the babe with a blanket and attempted to coax a breath from the silent babe; but the babe never drew a breath. The young girl lay moaning and writhing in pain as a dark red stain spread on the straw beneath her. Finally she was still. "This is what you have done to this girl, George. She was a lively maiden when you met her – now she is dead," the Spirit told him, holding him firmly in place where he could not escape the sight of the dead girl and the dead baby. "What think you now of your amusement? Was it worth this girl's life?" the Spirit thoughtfully asked him. The Spirit's hair and beard had now turned white, as though he had aged another twenty years. "Despite being born the son of a steward, you were given every possible advantage; but you have lived a life of idleness and depravity. What have you done to improve your own life? When did you become so contemptuous?" the Spirit harshly rebuked him.

George cowered in fear: "Will you kill me now, Spirit, to avenge the life of a young girl I abused so mercilessly?" he asked, filled with remorse.

A clock above the fireplace began to chime. "No George, I have not come to end your life but to help you to save your life," he replied as he removed the wreath from his head and placed it on George's head. As the clock struck midnight, the Spirit disappeared and George stood alone in his cold, dark boarding house room. He collapsed on the bed and wept, filled with guilt for damaging the lives of three innocent girls. He knew there were other girls besides those three and could only imagine the suffering they all must have endured due to his thoughtlessness. He fell asleep and was haunted by dreams of a tiny, lifeless babe lying on the floor of a dark, dank room.

(**Sources:** _Pride and Prejudice_, Jane Austen, 1813. _A Christmas Carol_, Charles Dickens, 1843.)


	5. Christmas Yet to Come

**Wickham's Christmas Ghosts**

**Chapter 5: ****Christmas Yet to Come**

George awoke suddenly when he heard his name called out in a low groaning voice. He was startled to observe a shadowy figure hovering near his bed holding a small candle. When his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he rose from his bed to observe the Spirit. He knew that this would be the third spirit he had been warned of. He wore a dark cloak and appeared to hover above the floor. George attempted to observe the spirit's face but saw only darkness, not even his eyes were visible beneath his dark shroud. His only human features were his pale, withered hands that extended out from his black cloak. He had never observed hands such as these on any living person; the skin was mottled and wrinkled, the fingers were bone thin and the fingernails were yellow and misshapen. His dark appearance and cryptic manner freighted George. Thinking him to be the grim reaper, he pleaded with the shadowy figure: "Please do not take my life, Spirit! I am a young man, although unworthy," he cried, trembling in fear.

The Spirit grasped his wrist and George was alarmed by his icy grip. He did not speak but George sensed him respond with a mournful groan: "I am the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come."

"_How did he do that?"_ George wondered. The Spirit spoke not a word but was somehow able to communicate with him. The Spirit pointed a bony finger at the ceiling and George felt his feet leave the floor and hover next to the Spirit. He knew he would be taken somewhere – but where this time? - he wondered.

They floated upward, out of the boarding house and George found himself speeding through the dark night; he observed only darkness; the only sound he heard was air rushing past his ears. They came to rest in a small room where the Spirit released him. There were several soldiers sitting at tables adorned with greenery, drinking ale and eating a holiday meal. He observed himself seated with other soldiers. "Ah," he said with a smile, "they are enjoying a bit of holiday cheer!"

The Spirit hovered near him: "They are drunk, George! You included!" George sensed his somber response although he said not a word.

He observed the group more closely; they were a rowdy bunch to be sure but not one of them uttered a coherent word. "Is this how I am to spend my future Christmas holidays?" he asked the dark Spirit.

The Spirit grabbed his wrist and George felt himself speeding through the darkness once again, with air rushing past his ears. They came to rest inside a small cottage with a young woman huddled near the fire; a blanket wrapped around her. "Where are you, George? You promised to be home hours ago! Are you hurt or are you just drunk?" she cried.

Observing her more closely, George recognized the young woman; it was Lydia Bennet. "Why are we visiting Lydia?" he asked the dark Spirit.

"That is Lydia Wickham, your wife," George sensed the Spirit tell him.

"I married Lydia?" he asked in confusion.

"You compromised her and were forced to marry," the Spirit silently told him. Lydia cried wretchedly next to the meager fire, attempting to stay warm.

The Spirit grasped George's wrist again, but instead of speeding through the air, they remained in the same cottage with the same meager fire in the fireplace. An older Lydia was there with two small children. "But why does Papa not come home, Mama? It is Christmas!" a young boy complained to Lydia.

A younger girl was sitting on the sofa clapping her hands: "Papa! Papa!" she exclaimed with a joyful babble.

Lydia guided the boy to the sofa next to his sister and gently stroked his face: "Yes, my dearest George, but your Papa is in service to His Majesty and must go wherever the king sends him," she told the young boy, wrapping a blanket around the children and offering them each a biscuit.

Young George accepted the biscuit and his Mama's explanation: "Yes, Mama," he replied obediently.

George marveled at the explanation Lydia had given the boy. "Am I on special assignment? Have I been sent to the border?" George asked the dark Spirit as he hovered nearby.

The Spirit grabbed George's wrist and he heard the familiar sound of air rushing past his ears. They returned to the same small room where the soldiers had been celebrating once before. He noticed himself sitting there, drinking and wagering with the other soldiers. The room had been provided for the unmarried soldiers, the dark Spirit wordlessly told him. "Do you not have a wife and children waiting for you at home, George?" they asked him. Drunk George laughed robustly but uttered not a coherent word. One of the younger men responded: "If I had a beautiful wife and two children, I would be home spending Christmas with them, not with a rowdy bunch such as this!"

George closed his eyes, ashamed at the scene before him. He kept his eyes closed as the dark Spirit grasped his wrist and the air rushed past his ears once again. They came to rest in the Pemberley drawing room; he observed the Bennet family in attendance with Elizabeth Bennet behaving as though she was the mistress of Pemberley, seeing to everyone's comfort. The dark Spirit wordlessly confirmed to George's surprise that Elizabeth was now married to William. Looking around the room, he observed that Lydia was absent. "My Lydia is so busy now as the wife of a lieutenant! There is no end to the holiday parties she has attended! Such an excellent match she has made!" Mrs. Bennet crowed to the others in the room.

George looked away; he felt certain that Lydia had lied to her family to prevent them from learning the truth about his failure to properly support his family. He looked around the room and it had all the same appointments that he remembered from his youth; especially the blazing yule fire. William had maintained the tradition and his guests were enjoying themselves as George remembered doing years ago.

Grabbing his wrist once more, the air rushed past George's ears and they returned to the same room with the soldiers; George now observed himself looking much older and stouter. But there were fewer men now accompanying him and they appeared to be much younger than old George. He watched his older self collapse in a heap on the floor. "Just leave him there – the old bugger!" one of the officers told them as the men all laughed. "I should never wish to wind up like that old has-been! Trying to relive his glory days, I suppose!" an officer told them as the others laughed heartily.

The dark Spirit grabbed his wrist and the air rushed past George's ears once again. They came to rest outdoors in a large grassy area. "Where are we, Spirit?" George asked.

"This is the beggars' graveyard," the dark Spirit silently told him with a morbid moan. George noticed that there were no headstones in this graveyard.

A small group of people stood in front of a fresh grave. "I wish you had not brought us here, George," Lydia Wickham cried to her oldest son, who was now about fourteen years of age. She held her daughter's hand as they stood near the grave. The grave diggers stood some distance away to give the family some privacy.

"We shall all say goodbye to Papa, then never mention him again," young George told the group.

George gasped in surprise. "Is this my grave, Spirit?" he asked.

"Goodbye, George," Lydia said with a sniffle then turned and left, bringing her daughter with her. Her handkerchief fluttered to the ground; George bent to retrieve it and slipped it into his pocket.

Young George remained behind, holding a pale, sickly, younger boy in his arms. "Goodbye, Papa," said the tiny boy in between coughs. "We shall see you in Heaven!" Young George said nothing and left the gravesite closely holding his little brother who coughed persistently.

George observed the scene with horror as the grave diggers walked to the grave and shook their heads. "The poor dear, crying over a drunkard's grave. She would have done much better if she had never met the blackguard," they said as they tended to the grave. "The poor, sick child, neglected by his father. He will certainly never get the care he needs now."

George dropped to his knees and cried aloud: "No, Spirit! Please say it is untrue! I beg of you! I could not have squandered my entire life, neglected my wife and children and disregarded my own dreams only to end up in an unmarked grave!" he pleaded with the Spirit, who made no reply. "Even my son, my own namesake has no parting words for his Papa!" he cried. He recalled how he had mourned his own father's passing; however, no one was mourning the passing of George Wickham.

Feeling the air rush past his ears, George then found himself in a tavern where it seemed that the men were complaining about him, "The drunkard owed me money!" "You shall not get any money from Wickham's widow; he left her penniless!" "Penniless, with three hungry children, the youngest one terribly sick, the poor boy."

George hung his head in shame: "My wife and children are suffering needlessly due to my neglect," he lamented. "No more, Spirit, show me no more; I beg of you!" he pleaded with the dark Spirit.

Once again he heard the familiar sound of air rushing past his ears until they came to rest at Pemberley. He saw William Darcy sitting in a chair near the fireplace reading to a large group of children with one child on his lap; it appeared to be the young child he saw at the graveyard but the child now seemed quite robust and healthy. He recognized young George and his sister. "Your daughter is named Diana," the dark Spirit moaned as he pointed with a withered finger. "Your younger son is named Thomas, after his grandfather," he groaned.

Unable to control his emotions, George wept openly at the knowledge that his daughter had been named after his beloved Mama. "Diana! You are as beautiful as your Grandmama!" George called out to the young girl. She smiled brightly at her uncle William as he read to the children in a soothing tone.

Lydia sat on a sofa next to Elizabeth. He had never seen Lydia look lovelier, despite her reserved demeanor. "The other children sitting on the floor are William and Elizabeth's," the dark Spirit told George. He glanced around the room and noticed the warmth and tranquility enjoyed by his children; a vast improvement from their previous circumstances.

Georgiana sat on another sofa with her two children: "Georgiana is married to an Earl," the dark Spirit moaned. George had never seen her looking more beautiful or content as she held her children close and listened to her brother's voice.

When William finished the story he closed the book and Thomas gazed up at him adoringly: "God bless you, Uncle William," he said with a bright smile, his cheeks rosy.

William kissed the boy's forehead: "God bless you, Thomas."

"Time for bed, children," Elizabeth announced as she rose and ushered the children out of the room. William placed Thomas on the floor and he obediently followed his aunt out of the room.

Diana rushed to her uncle and hugged him fiercely: "Happy Christmas, Uncle William!" she said as he embraced her warmly, kissing the top of her head.

"Happy Christmas, Princess" he replied with a proud smile and watched her leave the room.

Young George stood before his uncle: "Thank you for making this the best Christmas ever, Uncle William!" he said with a smile, extending his hand to his uncle.

William shook the young boy's hand: "You are very welcome, George," he told the boy then pulled him into a warm embrace. "I am so proud of you; you have become a fine young man," he whispered. Young George smiled proudly and left the room.

Lydia approached her brother-in-law: "William, I know not how to thank you for your kindness, even after my husband hurt your family so recklessly. I could never repay you for the generosity you have shown me and my children," she humbly told him.

William grasped her hand and smiled warmly: "You are my family, Lydia, as are your children," he told her.

George was filled with remorse: "William is caring for my wife and children, providing them with the care that I should have given them," he lamented. The man who he had once despised and plotted his revenge against, was now willingly, unselfishly caring for his wife and children. He fell to his knees and cried wretchedly: "I am worthless, just as Mr. Darcy has accused me!"

The dark Spirit grabbed his wrist and he found himself speeding through the air once again, dreading whatever the Spirit had next planned for him. Much to his surprise, he found himself standing next to the Spirit in his dark boarding house room. The Spirit still held the small candle with the dim flame. "The choices you have made have led you here, George. Only you have the power to choose your destiny," the dark Spirit wordlessly told George. "Choose wisely, George," he warned with a mournful moan. He drifted slowly towards the door and disappeared into the shadows.

"Yes, Spirit! I shall heed the lessons that you have taught me!" George called out into the darkness. "I shall heed the lessons of all the Spirits; Christmas Past, Christmas Present and Christmas Yet to Come! Yes, I shall be a new man, a new George Wickham! I shall honor my father and my godfather and be the man that they hoped me to be," he vowed.

(**Sources:** _Pride and Prejudice_, Jane Austen, 1813. _A Christmas Carol_, Charles Dickens, 1843.)


	6. Christmas Day

**Wickham's Christmas Ghosts**

**Chapter 6: ****Christmas Day 1811**

George awoke as daylight filled his cold, sparse boarding house room. He looked around the room and noticed nothing out of the ordinary; the fire in the fireplace had gone out and there was an empty water glass on the night stand next to the bed. He dragged his hand through his hair and wondered if the events of last night were real or imagined. Rising from his bed, he wrapped the blanket around him for warmth and a small evergreen wreath fell to the floor next to his feet. Retrieving it, he instantly recognized it as the wreath that the Ghost of Christmas Present had worn on his head during his visit. He reached into his pocket and found Lydia's handkerchief, embroidered with her monogram: **LWB**. "Lydia," he whispered. _"How could I have neglected her and my children so thoughtlessly?" _he wondered.

He placed the wreath on his head and admired himself in the looking glass. "I am the Spirit of Christmas Present," he told his reflection, recalling the jovial spirit who had shown him scenes that would happen later today. He hung his head as he realized it was too late to prevent those terrible outcomes; Georgiana and Phillipa would still be sad today and the other girl, he never even knew her name, she would die today giving birth to his child. He observed his reflection: "Here is a man who still lives but does not deserve his life," he acknowledged. He removed the wreath from his head and set it on the mantle.

He recalled the words of the dark Spirit: '_Only __you__ have the power to choose your destiny_.' George was suddenly struck by the lessons from the spirits. "I can change my destiny! I can choose a different destiny!" he told his reflection. He finally realized that during this most extraordinary night, he had been given a second chance. He did not have to continue on his current path; the George who enjoyed drinking, gaming and womanizing did not have to continue with those pastimes.

"No, George, you can be a better man, a better husband, a better father!" he told his reflection. "I shall be the best soldier who ever served His Majesty. I shall work my way up the ranks and be the greatest leader I can be. I shall repay my debts, I shall never imbibe again and I shall devote my life to my wife and family. I shall cherish them and spend every possible moment with them!" he vowed with renewed vigor.

After he had washed and dressed, he went below stairs to the dining room and found the sideboard filled with sweet rolls, eggs, ham and coffee. He ate a hearty breakfast and wrapped a few sweet rolls in a napkin, tucking them into his pocket before running outdoors. As he reached the street, he ran into a young boy with dirty clothes, most likely a street urchin. "Happy Christmas, Colonel!" the boy told him with happy excitement.

George laughed at the boy's cheerfulness and his mistake on George's rank. He pulled the sweet rolls out of his pocket and handed them to the boy: "Happy Christmas, my boy!" he replied with a smile. The boy took the rolls, thanked him profusely, tipped his hat and ran away.

"I may not be a Colonel today but one day, I shall be," George said as he watched the boy run away. He set off on his way, hoping that he would arrive at his destination in time. He was relieved when he found the carriage waiting at the front door of Darcy House. He stood outside and patiently waited for William and Georgiana to emerge from the front door. He had not the courage to knock on the door so he waited on the street, hoping to have a brief audience with them.

When they emerged from the house, he stepped forward with his hat in his hand: "Happy Christmas, Georgiana and William," he said with a reverent bow. Georgiana Darcy clung to her brother with a worried countenance. "Please have no fear, Georgiana. I wish you no harm. I wish only for a brief word with your brother, if I may," he said humbly.

William escorted his sister into the carriage and closed the door. "What do you want, George?" William impatiently asked him.

"I know I am the last person in the world you wish to see, but you must allow me to apologize for my offences against you and your sister," he humbly told his old childhood friend. "I know I have no right to expect your forgiveness but I am sincerely sorry for my past offences and I shall endeavor to remedy my behavior. I intend to be the best soldier I can be and pay all of my debts. I shall never indulge in gaming or drink again and I shall never give you any reason to doubt me. I want my wife and children to be proud of me."

William was startled by this last statement: "You shall never marry Georgiana," he said pointedly.

"Oh no, William, I did not mean to say that Georgiana shall be my wife. She shall marry an earl and bear him beautiful children," George told him.

"What are you talking about?" William asked him.

George smiled: "I had a wonderful epiphany! I should not expect you to believe me but Georgiana shall be quite happy as shall you, William! I just want you to know that even though I have not conducted myself well in the past, I shall correct my direction and you shall be proud of your old friend," he assured William.

William considered George with some skepticism: "I sincerely hope that you will do as you say, George," he replied.

George smiled: "I shall, you may depend on it! Happy Christmas, William!" he said as he extended his hand.

William shook his old friend's hand: "Happy Christmas, George!" he said and he mounted the carriage. George watched them drive away and disappear down the street.

George would not blame William if he did not believe his promises; he had been less than honest in the past. But that type of behavior was behind him now; he would be the most steadfast and trustworthy man he could possibly be – just like William Darcy!

He ran down the street and entered a small church where services were about to begin. The usher greeted him warmly and invited him to take a seat. George had not seen the inside of a church in many years, not since his father's funeral. He gazed at the familiar setting; the pews filled with worshipers, the candles burning on the altar, the music playing; it all felt so comforting. Why had he abandoned it? – he wondered.

(**Sources:** _Pride and Prejudice_, Jane Austen, 1813. _A Christmas Carol_, Charles Dickens, 1843.)


	7. Epilogue

**Wickham's Christmas Ghosts**

**Chapter 7: ****Epilogue**

**Christmas 1811:** George spent Christmas Day with strangers, having accepted their kind invitation to dinner while at church that morning. He had all the appearances of a lonely soldier away from home and was convinced to dine with perfect strangers, who as it happened, were perfectly hospitable and generous. Mr. and Mrs. Herbert welcomed him into their home and treated him as though he was a long lost son. In return for a splendid holiday meal, he insisted on doing a few small chores and repairs, which were initially refused by the couple but they expressed their profuse thanks and sent him away with a small fruit pie and promises of future correspondence. George returned to the boarding house feeling as though he had spent the day with old friends.

Upon his return to Hertfordshire after the holidays, George felt like a new man. Of course, to every one of his former acquaintances, he was the same old Wickham; the gambler, the drunkard, the debtor, the womanizer, the trouble-maker, the untrustworthy one. He put his plan into action and approached each of the merchants who had extended credit to him, acknowledged his debts and promised to pay them off within three months. Since it was impossible to repay all of his debts with his monthly stipend, he offered his services, wherever possible, such as making deliveries or repairs. The surprised merchants were grateful for the gesture; some accepted his services and some even forgave his debt.

There was also the matter of his wagering debts that he owed to his fellow soldiers, which were considerable. He acknowledged each one of them and made a concerted effort to repay those debts or barter for services such as boot and button polishing or performance of kitchen duties. He performed the lowliest of duties without complaint, all the while declining to participate in any wagers or card games. George Wickham became known as a very dull boy, but the best of soldiers. By March his debts were dwindling and his reputation was improving.

On a warm March afternoon, George had just unloaded a shipment of goods at the dry goods store and had bid the owner a good day when he ran into Lydia and Kitty Bennet. "Mr. Wickham, what a pleasure it is to see you again. We have not seen you in an age," Lydia told him with a dainty curtsey and a flutter of her lashes.

In truth, George had seen all of the Bennets at church services each Sunday since January. Even so, he was exceedingly glad to see Lydia looking so young and full of life, unlike his glimpses into her future with the Spirits. "Yes, Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty, I am pleased to see you both! Please give my regards to your parents," he told them as he tipped his hat and took his leave. He would make more time to see Lydia later but his obligation to her and their children required that he be faithful to his resolve to change his destiny; he would not be diverted from that path.

By the end of March, most of his debts to the local merchants had been either paid or forgiven but George continued his service to his most loyal supporters. He had not forgotten their kindnesses to him and his reputation had improved dramatically. While at church on Good Friday, Mr. Bennet approached him and invited him to join the family for dinner on Easter Sunday, after church services. He graciously accepted and as he took his leave of the family, he could hear Lydia giggle with delight. When he joined the family for dinner that Sunday, he found that he had three admirers; Lydia, Kitty and Mrs. Bennet who sang his praises without reservation until Mr. Bennet finally silenced her with a stern glance. After the ladies removed to the drawing room, George took the time to get to know Mr. Bennet and admired his dry wit and dedication to his family. This man would one day be his father-in-law and he was determined to earn his respect as he had earned the respect of the merchants in town.

George spent each Sunday dining with the Bennets and enjoyed their company immensely. Mrs. Bennet was quite silly as were her younger daughters but he was careful not to pay too much attention to Lydia and paid equal attention to Kitty and Mary; the two elder Bennet sisters were both on extended visits to friends and family. At the end of April, George requested Mr. Bennet's consent to court Lydia, which was quickly granted. Each Sunday, he and the three sisters walked together on the grounds of Longbourn and he was careful to observe only the strictest propriety while in Lydia's presence; he wanted to ensure, for her sake, that there would be no compromise or forced marriage even though Lydia herself had no equal desire to observe propriety.

On the first of May, the announcement was made that the regiment would be removing to Brighton by the end of the month. Lydia took the news well, however Kitty seemed to be devastated by the potential loss of suitors. Mrs. Forster, wife of Colonel Forster had formed a close friendship with Lydia and invited her to come to Brighton as her guest. During Sunday dinner, George surmised that there had been some reluctance on Mr. Bennet's part to give consent to the scheme; Lydia and Kitty both seemed out of sorts. When he was summoned to Mr. Bennet's study, George gave his solemn promise to continue to observe the strictest propriety while in company with Lydia. Mr. Bennet was well pleased with this response but felt obliged to deliver a stern warning that serious repercussions would result if George failed to honor his promise. He ensured his future father-in-law that he would indeed honor his promise.

When George arrived in Brighton at the end of May, he kept the same practice he had begun in Meryton by offering assistance to anyone who needed it and offering to perform duties for other officers. His diligence was duly noted by his superiors and he was promoted to Captain. Lydia was delirious with pride and admiration by his advancement in the militia. An informal ball was held and he had been proud to stand up with the beautiful, lively Lydia Bennet. He kept his promise to Mr. Bennet and observed the strictest propriety; it was only during their dances that he touched her gloved hand with his gloved hand. If they walked together, he ensured that they were properly chaperoned at all times; he did not wish for a bad report to reach Longbourn or his superior officers. He held on to his determination to be the best, most honorable officer he could be and nothing would deter him from that resolve.

By the end of June, he had earned four days off from his duties and took the opportunity to travel to Hertfordshire for the express purpose of speaking to Mr. Bennet. He asked the gentleman for his permission to marry his excellent daughter. The older gentleman could not have been more surprised that George had spent two days traveling to Longbourn and for a moment suspected that his daughter may have been compromised, but George assured him that they had been properly chaperoned at all times and presented two letters; one written by Lydia, indicating that she had accepted his address, and the other from Colonel Forster, indicating that George had been promoted to the rank of Captain and that Lydia had indeed been properly chaperoned while in his wife's care. Mr. Bennet gave his consent with one provision; Lydia was to return home immediately. He wrote her a quick letter informing her of his decision and his plan to ensure her safe return to Hertfordshire. George immediately set out on the two day return trip to Brighton and delivered the letter to Lydia. She, of course, cried wretchedly when told of her father's insistence that she return home but was consoled by the contents of her father's letter; he had promised her a shopping trip to London for her trousseau. One week later, Lydia's Aunt and Uncle Phillips arrived to escort her back to Hertfordshire and George bid her a fond farewell with the promise to write as often as possible.

On the last day of August, Captain George Wickham wearing his blue coat, stood at the front of the Meryton Chapel and watched with pride as his beautiful bride was escorted down the aisle by her excellent father. In his pocket was the handkerchief that he had retrieved from the beggar's graveyard; he had carried it with him every day since to remind him of his destiny. He wished that his own father and godfather had been there to see him marry Lydia; but he took great pride in the fact that William Darcy had traveled from Derbyshire to be there for his old friend. Georgiana had declined the invitation but William assured him that they harbored no ill will against him and they were pleased that he had made such remarkable improvements to his character. Also in attendance were Mr. and Mrs. Herbert, the couple George had met in London on Christmas Day. He maintained a regular correspondence with them and was proud that they had come to celebrate his marriage to Lydia.

Before God and witnesses, George vowed to Lydia that he would 'love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep only unto her, so long as they both shall live'. *

George was gazing at a candle on the altar when the vicar spoke the words 'Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder'. * For one instant, the candle blazed as brilliantly as one hundred candles, just as the bright Spirit's candle had glowed that fateful night. He smiled warmly at Lydia as he escorted her up the aisle, out the door and towards their future. He accepted the congratulations and well wishes of the guests, including William Darcy. William was now courting Miss Elizabeth and George suspected that their betrothal would soon be announced. He smiled as he watched them together, knowing that they would have a wonderful life together.

~~oo~~

**Christmas 1812:** George and Lydia snuggled in front of the fireplace and watched the yule log burn brightly, as it had done all day. They had entertained a few of the local residents at Christmas dinner. George had finally learned to appreciate the gifts he had been given; an honorable living, a beautiful wife and a comfortable home.

**Christmas 1814:** Phillipa Martin opened a small package that had arrived at the home of her employer. She had not received a single package since she had been forced into service and was surprised upon opening the package to discover that it was from George Wickham. Inside was a velvet pouch filled with one thousand pounds and a letter; he was extremely remorseful for his transgressions against her and hoped with all sincerity that the amount enclosed would help to provide her with a more comfortable living. She had worked in the scullery for many years and had recently risen to the position of assistant cook. Her baking skills had earned her much praise and attention in the past year; it was her fondest desire to leave service and have a family of her own. Perhaps this would now be possible with her change in circumstances.

George had received a generous bequest at the behest of Mr. Herbert of London. He set aside a portion for Diana's dowry and sent the remainder to Phillipa in hopes that her life would improve.

**Christmas 1817:** George stood in his children's bedchamber watching them sleeping peacefully in their beds, their bellies filled with Christmas pudding and sugar plums. Young George was an innocent, playful boy and young Diana was the image of her grandmother; they filled George with more love and pride than he had ever before experienced.

**Christmas 1827:** Colonel George Wickham sat on Lydia's bed as she nursed their new-born son, Thomas, who had all the appearances of a robust and healthy babe. Lydia was luminous as she held their child and gazed at him with maternal pride. Young George was now fourteen and Diana was twelve. George could not be more proud of his family. He had risen through the ranks of the military and now had the respect of his fellow officers, his friends and his community.

**Christmas 1830:** The Wickhams had traveled to Pemberley at the invitation of William and Elizabeth Darcy and were comfortably ensconced in the drawing room. William was reading to the children and Thomas was sitting on his uncle's lap. The scene appeared to George just as he had witnessed all those years ago when the spirits visited him on that fateful Christmas Eve. Elizabeth, Lydia and Georgiana were even more radiant than he remembered and the children were all perfectly healthy and attentive as William read the Christmas story to them. When the story was finished, the children all bade their goodnights to them and he was left alone with William. "Thank you for making this a special Christmas for my family, William," George told him as he shook the hand of his oldest friend.

"Elizabeth and I are pleased that you were able to join us this year, George," William told him warmly. "We are very proud of your accomplishments."

"I told you years ago that I would make my wife and children proud of me and hoped to make my oldest friend proud as well. I know that I started out on the wrong path but I have endeavored to be a better man. I must thank you once again for forgiving my debts, William," he said with all humility.

William smiled at his friend: "You have done everything you set out to do and you have every reason to be proud of yourself."

Elizabeth and Lydia joined them in the drawing room. "And you have every reason to be proud of your family, William," George replied as he grasped Lydia's hand.

**Christmas 1833:** George was now retired from the military and lived with his family in a house in Meryton. Mr. James, proprietor of the dry goods store, having no children of his own, had bequeathed the house and his business to George in his will. George had worked off his debt to Mr. James many years ago but continued to assist the gentleman whenever he returned to Meryton. The local merchants held George in high esteem and had eagerly welcomed him into their circle; he was now considered one of the most honorable businessmen in town. In honor of Mr. James and William Darcy, George often forgave the debts of those who were unable to pay him, holding no resentment or bitterness against them. On this Christmas day, he and Lydia had entertained several fellow local proprietors and their families for Christmas dinner. Before the night came to an end, George continued the tradition of reading the Christmas story to his children as they sat in front of the yule fire. It had been an entertaining but exhausting day and the children had retired for the evening. George gazed into the fire has he recalled what his life could have been and said a brief prayer of thanks for the Spirits who had visited him those many years ago. Thanks to them, he was a rich man indeed; not necessarily in the monetary sense but in every other way he had been richly rewarded. He had a beautiful wife, three beautiful healthy children, the respect of the community and a decent living. Unlike George Darcy, George Wickham had found his peace and was thankful for the blessings that had been bestowed on him. Before retiring for the night, he checked on the children to make sure they were sleeping peacefully and kiss them goodnight. When he kissed Thomas, the child opened his eyes for an instant and said: "God bless you, Papa," and then fell back to sleep.

George smiled at his young son: "God bless you, Thomas," he whispered, tucking the child snuggly in his bed. "God bless us, everyone!"

~~The End~~

* Book of Common Prayer, extract, 1662

(**Sources:** _Pride__ and __Prejudice_, Jane Austen, 1813. _A Christmas Carol_, Charles Dickens, 1843.)

Dear Readers: Thank you for reading and reviewing my story. I hope you enjoyed it!


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